Things had gone south fast in Madripoor.

What was supposed to be a simple intel-gathering mission on the recreated super soldier serum turned into chaos—gun$, shouting, double-crosses. Of course, it couldn’t have ended there. Out of all people, you just had to run into Sharon Carter.

You’d tried to get along with her once upon a time, even gave her the benefit of the doubt, but she never returned the effort. It wasn’t just dislike. It was calculated disdain—and you saw straight through her. She didn’t wear masks; she wore layers. And none of them ever looked good on her.

Still, she saved your asses.

She got you, Buck, Sam, and Zemo out of a bad situation and brought you all back to her place to lay low. It was surprisingly upscale for someone “on the run,” but you didn’t question it—at least, not out loud.

While the others were changing, you slipped into her bathroom, rummaging through a closet of clothes she kept stashed for emergencies. You managed to find something that not only fit but made you feel like yourself—combat boots, dark jeans, and a fitted leather jacket that hugged your frame like it was custom-made.

You cleaned yourself up, adjusted the collar of the jacket, and stepped out into the living room.

All eyes turned to you.

But it was Buck’s gaze that mattered. His steel-blue eyes softened the second they landed on you, and a small, almost shy smile curled on his lips. You returned the expression without hesitation, a silent exchange that said more than words ever could.

Sharon noticed. Oh, she noticed. She was mid-conversation with him when his attention shifted, and the flicker of annoyance in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“You know,” Sharon said sharply, her tone clipped, “we were all extremely comfortable until she showed up.”

She glanced at James, then at you.

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not standing right here,” you replied, stepping further into the room, eyes locked on hers.

“Then leave,” Sharon says with a smug little smirk.

From the corner, Zemo leaned back on the couch, clearly enjoying the rising tension. “Well, this is about to get good,” he muttered, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth.

Sam groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Zemo, shut up—and pass me some of those damn Turkish Delights you hoard.”

You shook your head, not even surprised by Sharon’s behavior. You turned to James, raising a brow.

“I told you,” you said simply.

He exhaled through his nose and gave a slight nod, already knowing what you meant. The acknowledgment stung Sharon more than anything you’d said.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Told him what, exactly? That you’re a liar?” Her voice dripped with venom.

You snorted.

“No. That you’re a shit-talking b*tch.”

Zemo and Sam both burst into laughter, Sam nearly choking on the candy he just popped into his mouth. Even Buck cracked a smile, sitting back against the couch with a low chuckle, his arms stretched across the backrest like he had front-row seats to the drama.

“I told you, C@rter,” he said calmly, his smirk aimed right at her. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Sharon’s jaw clenched, her eyes flickering with rage—but for once, she had nothing to say.

And you? You just smiled, because for the first time in a while, you felt like you’d finally won a round.